Destruction of the Destroyed
by Karikinis
Summary: Different short stories with about four Parts Each.WWII era. Each description inside. First story is about Alice and Alfred Jones-Kirkland. "Let's Say goodbye before we say hello."
1. Intro

Collection of short stories. Each story has about four parts with one,two or three points of view. The first one is the Story of Alice and Alfred Jones-Kirkland. Two heroes, each in their own way. Alfred is a war veteran just returning home to America where his lovely wife Alice Kirkland-Jones is waiting for him, with his son Earl Lester Jones. See how he tries to adapt to life again after barely getting out of war alive.


	2. Let's Say Goodbye Before We Say Hello

Alice Kirkland:

Time. That was one funny concept right there. Ever since we started to measure it, we never seem to have enough. We limit the limitless, running in circles trying to make beginnings without knowing its end; yet we try to control time, and even I'll admit I have my fair share of that want; yet the wait of one is over, so another starts. Never satisfied with the little time we get, saying we don't have any while we waste it on unimportant thing, yet sometimes we have to do what we need to, to support our family and to maintain some stability in life.

I look at my surroundings and I realize I've spent sunless nights and moonless days for this exact moment. To pin point at what exact moment I realized the wait is a desperate longing, would probably be around the time he left, and no form of communication, with the exception of a letter every blue moon, was only adding to the excoriating pain of not knowing and not controlling. How long has it been since I last saw him? It could certainly not have been this long. It had only seemed like yesterday when he told me, yet had those days before he left really passed through like minutes? Each second we are apart, every moment I am away from him, seems to prolong itself to centuries, it was unbelievable that so much had happened in those mere three years.

I spent my time then waiting for him to arrive under a big sturdy tree feeling as a teenager waiting for a secret admirer, silly flimsy naive times. Things were much better back then. Arrays of different faces were under the unforgiving sun, faces with their own story, their own struggles, and as I wait I ponder they waiting are for, a father? A brother? A lover? My attention snapped elsewhere when I heard the cry of a young infant. My eyes connect with the sight of an infant. He was around three or four years of age, a toddler if you may, chubby and blond, and a hat, too big for his head covering his eyes. Anyhow, he was crying on the ground with a wooden train, presumably a toy train, split right down the middle. How I do wonder how in heaven's name that happened, the split was basically perfect. Either his mother or caretaker made the move to carry and console the young child, cheer him up after the loss of a toy. In a way he reminded me of little Earl Lester, my little boy of one year of age, the splitting image of his father if you ask me. At the moment his was the only presence I longed for, in my arms to calm me; he was the only reassurance that I still had a part of Alfred with me. Despite all odds. Though I longed for that small reassurance I knew that I wanted to enjoy as much time alone with Alfred as I possibly could muster. Two weeks after two years of not seeing him was simply not enough, not enough time to miss him, to hug him, to remember every detail of every inch of his body, every nook and cranny, every line adorning his face, not enough to stare into his eyes and have silent conversations that we perfectly understood between ourselves, our own little silent language. He was my everything and quite honestly I don't think I could live a whole life without him, he was the peanut butter to my jelly, the bread to my sandwich. I remembered suddenly that out fourth wedding anniversary would be coming soon. I should really plan a big bash for him.

We did send letters to each other every now and then, I got his I'm not sure if he ever did get mine... Well the ones I sent to was lucky enough to become a higher-ranking officer, not an extremely important role, but high enough to have some privileges. I think he was either a sergeant or something along those lines; all I knew is that he is a middle rank, and honestly I am proud of him, of his solider status. He was not a higher commissioned officer; he had almost no binds to tie him to the army whatsoever any longer. What I do wonder is what rank he was in the air force. If he could come here for a few days, he had to be a higher rank than his army ranks. Yet I know I will probably restrain myself from asking him, I wish the least amount of bad memories, and could not bear the thought of me causing one.

I sighed as I waited for the planes to land, shifting in my heels, wishing I had my red flowered dress and sneakers, yet I had work earlier and had not time to go and change home, I was stuck in this tight skirt and blazer that was "work friendly" for the office. I would rather be wearing the odd utility suit; it was much looser than this restricting outfit, yet I am thankful for where I work now, because becoming a mechanic is extremely dangerous. My eyes flutter to my left hand, the one I almost chopped off fixing a plane's engine.

I sighed and looked up at the sky waiting to see the array of planes, but the sky was as clear and cloudless as it was five minutes ago. I decided to sit down and prop myself against the tree and close my eyes to relax, the calming dark smoothing me into a peaceful oblivion.

* * *

I woke up with a start when I heard the extremely loud cheering, the crowd s having multiplied with the spectacle happening overhead. I felt the corners of my lips turn upwards involuntarily. I pushed myself through the crowd, my mission being the front, ignoring the protest of the people and the etiquette shoved into my head since I was a little girl. As I got to the front, I looked up and watched and laughed in amazement as a child, knowing my Alfred is somewhere in there.

Soon enough the show concluded and the planes landed. My eyes sees yes desperately for a red plane with the name "Hero" printed on its side. When I found it my eyes never left it, following it until it was out of sight, my smile being here than before.

"Alfred" I murmured as though enchanted, enticed. The crowd had dissipated since it was almost sundown; the sky turning a light shade of pink, leaving family and friends waiting again. After what seemed like another eternity, I finally saw him with a bomber jacket and slacks. When he was close enough I opened the gate separation is (ignoring my now blaring conscious nagging me about proper behavior, oh what would my mother say?) and ran to him as fast as my legs would carry me. I practically tackled him since I guess he wasn't prepared, but his warm arms encircled me. I enjoyed his embrace. I got up off him as he chuckled and I kissed him with a passion and urgency that had been kept restrained for almost three years. As we separated I heard the wolf whistles of the remaining pilots ever so present, and the need for oxygen, I looked at him and told him with all seriousness, "If you ever and I mean ever, and EVER leave again, I will cut you in half!" He laughed and kissed my cheek, "Missed you too Iggy Jones." I hugged him tighter as he used his pet name for me and let myself go, content with being in his arms once again.


End file.
